but it was not your fault but mine
by FarFromNever
Summary: I really fucked it up this time; didn't I, my dear?


When the angel's Fell, Dean was so busy trying to keep Sam awake, he'd almost ran over Cas, assuming he was road kill or something.

But road kill didn't lie there in the middle of the road, screaming at the sky in Enochian as the angels Fell.

"Dean?" Sam moaned, lifting his head up slightly. He was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and had vomit on the front of his shirt. He either didn't know or didn't care.

"Hold on, Sammy; I have to get something."

Dean climbed out of the car and walked over to where Cas was lying. He was split between screaming at him until his voice was hoarse and holding him tight. Instead of acting on either impulse, he silently pulled him up and started dragging him over to the car. Cas struggled so much that Dean eventually got frustrated and hit him.

Just like his dad used to do whenever he complained as a kid.

He felt guilty once he realized what he'd done, but he couldn't deny feeling a small sense of relief over the fact that Cas had finally shut up. Just when he slid into the driver's seat, Sam vomited and started shaking violently.

"It's okay little brother, I've got you. We're gonna go get you fixed up, you hear me? You'll be back to a hundred percent in no time."

He glanced in the mirror and wasn't completely surprised to see Cas watching him. What surprised him was how empty he looked. Even as God, he'd shown some type of emotion (usually arrogance and contempt) but now he might have dead for all the emotion he showed.

Dean stared at him for a moment longer before looking away.

After the Fall, Cas didn't bother interacting with the rest of the house. Instead, he preferred praying in isolation. Everyone heard him, but no one really wanted to know who he was talking to. When no one answered, he could be heard taking his frustration out on his room.

He only really ventured out for alcohol and medication, disappearing back into the depths of his room once he had what he needed. Certain pills induced certain mindsets for him, such as depressive, violent, and manic. Even without the pills, he could be easily triggered by certain events into these states.

One such trigger was mistaking people for his either fallen or dead siblings. Once, when Charlie visited, he'd mistaken her for Anna and quickly picked up a knife, mistaking it for an angel blade. It'd taken both Sam and Dean to subdue and convince him that it wasn't Anna.

After that visit, everyone had started hiding all the weapons and keeping a closer eye on Castiel. Under their collective scrutiny, he seemed to grow angrier but came out of his room less often, only venturing out for alcohol and drugs.

Sam always told him to go talk to him. "It'd be good for both of you," he'd said.

He always refused. After all, what good would it do? It wouldn't bring back his angelic status so why bother?

But one day, when it all got to be too much angry, too much hurt, too much broken, Dean had enough.

"Cas, open up, it's me."

He was rewarded with the sound of something shattering.

"Dude, what the hell? Open the door"

Two shatters.

"If you don't open up, I'm gonna break this damn door down."

Silence. Then he heard rustling and a faint click and then Cas was glaring at him.

"What," he asked flatly.

Dean took a silent inventory. His eyes were red rimmed and slightly unfocused, his hair had grown out a bit, his face was unshaven, and his clothes were wrinkled. In addition to his unruly appearance, the room stank of booze and the floor was littered with empty pill bottles.

He looked like the version that Zachariah had shown him.

"You look awful."

"Thank you. Is that all?"

He pushed past the other man and stood in the middle of the room. "Seriously, Cas? What is this?"

"I believe your kind call it self-medication."

"_Our_ kind," Dean corrected, ignoring the shadows that fell over Cas's face. "And you have to stop. All this lashing out and drinking isn't gonna solve anything. I should know; I've been there."

Cas stared silently at him before suddenly laughing wildly. Just as Dean was beginning to wonder if he'd finally snapped, he stopped.

"Do you know what color my wings were?"

Dean shook his head.

"They were what your kind call gold. But the further I fell, the darker they became. Each time I thought the pain was too much, I would remind myself that I was rebelling for a good cause, that I was rebelling for you. After all, I fought through Hell for forty Hell for you."

"Pain?"

"Yes. Falling is a painful process, as Anna told you. But the difference between my Fall and hers is that mine was more drawn out and as a result, more agonizing. It felt like if my Grace was slowly being pried out of my body with a dull screwdriver."

Dean felt like if the walls were getting closer, suffocating him. "Stop it," he said, voice cracking.

"When Metatron cast us out, I was very disoriented," Cas continued, ignoring Dean, "One moment, I still have my wings and my Grace, then suddenly, I'm in the middle of the road with nothing. I was perfectly content just lie there and wait for a car to hit me, but of course-"

"Shut up."

"The Winchesters would find me and of course they would take me to their bunker. But I realized something back in that car: if it weren't for you, I wouldn't have fallen, Gabriel and Balthazar would still be alive, and I'd be happy."

"Shut up," Dean shouted, hands shaking.

Cas raised his voice as well. "This is all your fault and I hate you. You ruined me and I hate you for it."

_This is all your fault this is all your fault this is all your fault. _Dean lunged at Cas, knocking him down and punching wildly. He wanted him to hurt.

He paused for a moment and was abruptly flipped over and awarded with rapid fire strikes to the face. Cas was screaming at him in a different language and he didn't seem to care if Dean understood.

Dean balled his left hand up into a fist before punching the other man in the solar plexus and using his right hand to push himself up. He pulled him up and shoved him against a wall, ignoring the blood that leaked from his nose.

_This is all your fault._

He punched Cas in the face once, twice, three times. The second time, Dean could have sworn he heard something break.

Cas laughed maniacally. "Is the Righteous Man going to beat me bloody," he taunted.

Just as Dean had his hand raised to do just that, he was dragged away. He struggled briefly before realizing it was Sam.

"Get off me."

"Dean-"

"Get the hell off me."

Reluctantly, Sam let him go and stepped back, still watching him warily.

Dean ignored him, looking instead at Cas, who was grinning at him through blood-stained teeth.

"Fuck you," he said softly before he walked out, the image of Cas's blood-stained rictus smile burned into his brain.

He would be so beautiful if he wasn't so broken.


End file.
